


Aces Wild

by BouncingKappa



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mechanics, Pilot Poe Dameron, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 18:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30092982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BouncingKappa/pseuds/BouncingKappa
Summary: In the aftermath of Crait, the battered Resistance hunkers down to recover.  Poe Dameron is feeling the loss of his comrades, his friends, and his beloved starfighter.  Alannah Corallay, Resistance technician, just wants to keep her head down and get the job done.  Despite her best efforts she winds up on Poe's radar and he's determined to prove to her that there's more to living than just existing.  If they happen to fall in love...well, that sort of thing happens all the time, right?  They're only being pursued by the ruthless First Order and caught up in a war with no end in sight.What's the worst that could happen?
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Original Character(s), Poe Dameron/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	1. Fissures and Cracks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sushifish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushifish/gifts).



A near-constant fog coated the surface of Waveren, a small moon orbiting a gas giant sitting on the edge between the outer rim and everything else. Thick and heavy, the fog obscured the towering mountains that jutted up from the moon’s surface and wove between the thick blades of purple grass that grew well over eight feet in a sea that rolled in waves beneath the wind that blew sheets of drizzle over the grass, the mountains and the entrance to the Resistance base dug into a series of caverns and tunnels crawling along the front range. The weather was a plague, a dour mood to accompany the misery hanging heavy over the significantly smaller band of Resistance fighters hunkering down, still reeling from the Battle of Crait and the days that led up to it. 

Poe Dameron couldn’t stand the weather. The moisture wreaked havoc on all of the base’s systems and permeated everything from the X-Wing hangar to his miniscule quarters tucked away in a far corner of the base. Even more than the damned fog, he hated feeling trapped in the base, where there were no windows, there was no clear sky or even a single sun to shine a light on what might have otherwise been a beautiful place. 

Rationally speaking, he knew he was being an impatient idiot. But patience was not one of his virtues; it never had been. Even as a child, Poe couldn’t stay still and he certainly hated being told to simply sit and wait. As an adult, his impatience only grew and with it a somewhat infamous reputation. He wanted what he wanted in the moment. If he wanted a mission to stave off boredom, he sought it out and plagued his commanding officers until he got one. Often his prerogative to hurry, hurry, hurry led him to bugging the mechanics assigned to working on whatever ship he flew at the time. And now here he was, trapped on a gloomy moon with no mission, no one to listen to his complaining, and worst of all, no damn ship to take out even if he did have a mission. 

Maybe it was wrong but Poe found himself grieving the loss of Black One on top of the catastrophic losses to the Resistance. In a way he felt that losing his beloved starfighter was something of a just punishment, well-deserved for his attempted mutiny and all of the damage he caused as a direct result. The idea that he’d only been trying to help or that he was doing the best that he could given the circumstances only made the situation worse in his eyes. Anytime he considered the death toll, the roots of his guilt dug in a little deeper, choking off his usual ability to sweep under the rug all of the awful things that had happened in his life thus far. Normally, he’d hop in any ship available to him and get a few flight hours under his belt to blow off steam and despite the miserable conditions, Poe had to admit that Waveren would be an excellent place to sharpen his skills. He would have loved to let the belly of an X-Wing skim over the violet grass and feel the thrill in his stomach as he executed hairpin turns to avoid foothills and mountains that emerged suddenly out of the fog, sending him weaving through the perilous peaks. 

Oh, what wouldn’t he give to be in an orange jumpsuit, strapped into a cockpit right now?

But even though there were a handful of surviving ships, there was yet another problem keeping him grounded. 

“This fog is truly awful,” Rey commented from where she sat near him, legs folded atop a large supply crate. 

“Tell me about it,” he grumbled and looked back to the two neat rows of grounded T-70’s. “The head mechanic says the moon’s atmosphere is screwing with the life support and hyperdrive systems.”

Rey frowned, following his gaze to the small group of mechanics scattered throughout the hangar, each one working diligently to address the problems caused by the weather. “I wonder how Chewy is doing with the Falcon.” 

Poe hadn’t even considered the Falcon. That ship was even older than the remaining X-Wings and had endured significantly more trauma than any other ship he’d ever seen. For as much as he respected and admired the prowess of the Millennium Falcon, even he had to admit that poor ship had gone through so many hasty patch jobs, repairs, and overhauls that most of the ship’s original innards were replaced by a hodgepodge of parts, such that the manufacturer probably wouldn’t even recognize her. He couldn’t imagine she was handling the oppressive atmosphere well at all. 

They fell back into comfortable silence, both staring out into the swirling fog and contemplating their own issues. Poe didn’t really talk much about his personal problems as a general rule and for someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, Rey was unusually standoffish. He supposed whatever happened to her on Ahch-To and the loss of Luke Skywalker had a lot to do with it but he couldn’t say for certain. He didn’t see much of a point in asking and, considering they were only just getting to know each other, it really wasn’t his business anyway. 

A long shadow fell across his face, distracting him from his thoughts. He started to get to his feet but General Organa waved him back down. 

“General,” he greeted her. “What can I do for you?”

“Have you heard any word on when the fleet will be up and running?” 

“No, sir.” 

Leia pursed her lips in dissatisfaction, the lines at her weary eyes deepening. “Check in with the head mechanic and report back to me. A convoy is expected to arrive in the morning bringing supplies and fresh personnel. I’d like it to have an escort once it reaches the edges of this system.” 

Now Leia was talking. A mission, even a small one, was everything he needed to get out of his own head and do something productive with his time. Shooting to his feet, he nodded. “I’ll get on it, sir.”

“Good.” She graced him with a knowing smile before turning her attention to Rey. “Come with me, I have some things we need to discuss.”

Rey unfurled her limbs and slid off the edge of the crate, landing light on her feet. Few people exhibited the same level of grace that she did and Poe supposed that was just part of the whole Jedi thing. He never really understood the Force or the allure of the Jedi but then again, he had almost zero spiritual connection to the universe. Poe believed in the tangible, the solid ground beneath his boots, the wind on his cheeks and the thick air filling his lungs. The closest he ever got to feeling the Force was the way his body seemed to meld into a fighter, extended to become a single unit with it, but he was pretty sure that’s not what Leia meant when she spoke of feeling one with the Force. 

Hopping to his feet, he watched Rey trail after Leia until they disappeared through the door leading to the operations room. Turning away from there, he faced the bay and the meager fleet of X-Wings. The head technician was a Rodian by the name of Avik, a grouchy green-skinned fellow who loved machines, respected his fellow technicians, and despised just about everyone else. Usually Poe could track him down by the smell alone; it was hard to mistake Avik’s pungent odor but as he wove between ships, the technician was nowhere to be found. Whirling around, he searched about until he saw a head capped with pale, shining blonde hair. His stomach sank a fraction. Avik wasn’t his biggest fan but compared to his second-in-command, Alannah Corallay, the Rodian practically worshipped at his feet. 

Poe’s impatient streak and sharp tongue occasionally got him into trouble with other people and that was certainly the case with Alannah. Once, about a year earlier when she was a new recruit to the Resistance, she’d been assigned to work on Black One, replacing a length of tubing that ran coolant through the fuselage. Poe made the grave mistake of not only questioning her capabilities but accused her of being too slow and requesting the aid of a second technician to do the job. The withering look she’d given him in the face of his complete disrespect wasn’t one he could easily forget. Ever since, she did her best to steer clear of him and almost never worked on Black One unless she absolutely had to, which turned out to be a crying shame because Poe came to learn from his fellow pilots that Alannah was one of the best starfighter technicians in the whole of the Resistance. 

Steeling himself, he strode toward her. “Hey! Corallay!”

The owner of the blonde hair popped up, revealing a young woman with vivid hazel eyes, just a fraction larger than a normal human’s, set above a straight, pert nose and a full mouth. She was pale like all Laryaians of her race, her skin dusted with freckles. A wide, forest green headband kept her hair from her face, the thick mass twisted into a braid and coiled atop her head. There was no denying that Alannah was particularly pretty. There was also no denying that she had an infamously cool, impenetrable exterior.

Poe tried his best not to smirk. Although she did her best not to let him see, she rolled her eyes as she ducked beneath the nose cone of the unit she was working on. Alannah was a funny ball of contradictions, including the fact that despite her distaste for him, she would never dare openly disrespect such a high-ranking member of the Resistance. “Commander?”

“Where’s Avik? I need to speak to him.”

“He’s sick,” she announced and spun on her heel and returned to the side of the nose cone where she’d removed the outer panel near the tip, revealing the wiring and circuitry beneath.

Poe’s eyebrows flew up. “Sick? Avik’s never sick.”

“He claims something in the atmosphere is interfering with his temperature regulation.”

“That sounds like code for he had one too many at the mess.”

Alannah shrugged one shoulder, covered by her khaki-colored coveralls that he personally thought did an injustice to almost everyone who wore them. “Be that as it may, you’re stuck with me.” Poe started when she reached into the cone, wrapped her hand around an entire computer circuit and yanked hard, pulling it and the attached wires free. Without a second glance, she tossed the part into an open container containing a small pile of scrap. “So what can I do for you?”

Even as she spoke her slender, delicate fingers parsed several colored wires, isolating two additional green wires and she pulled those out too, tossing them in with the other parts. How she knew which wires did what without a detailed diagram eluded him. Poe knew a lot about the workings of X-Wings, more than most pilots, but when it came to the nitty gritty details, he was lost. He could do general repairs but couldn’t touch the technicians for their acumen.

“General Organa wants to know how long it's going to take to finish repairs.”

Alannah didn’t answer him. Instead she turned from him and started walking away. Poe gaped after her, wondering if she had completely forgotten he was there or if she was just blatantly ignoring him. He grumbled under his breath and jogged to catch up with her. Avik might give him an earful for being a pushy bastard but at least he wouldn’t just continue doing his job like Poe was nothing more than an irritating cloud of space dust that wouldn’t disperse. As he followed her he tried, and failed, to keep his gaze from dropping once to admire her long legs and shapely backside that not even her coveralls could diminish. Swallowing hard, he forced himself back to the matter at hand, catching up to fall into step with her.

“Alann--”

“I heard you,” she said, her voice taking on a familiar brusque tone. “I don’t really have time to shoot the breeze so we can discuss the matter while I continue working.”

Poe couldn’t necessarily fault her for that. In fact, aside from seeing her with Rose Tico in the mess a handful of times, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her not working. “This isn’t what I’d call shooting the breeze, Corallay. If you do then you should probably work on your conversational skills.”

“Touche,” she remarked, though her voice sounded far away as she sifted through an open crate of parts until she identified an Incom box that satisfied her. She thrust her wrist into a separate box, looping a few coils of colored wire onto her arm. “To answer your question, I don’t have a solid timeline. These units are in bad shape and I’m down a lot of staff.” 

Poe’s stomach clenched. The Engineering Corps had taken significant losses during the escape from D’Qar, with several technicians killed after Kylo Ren fired shots directly into the hangar of the  _ Raddus _ . He realized as he glanced back to the hangar that there were too many missing familiar faces. 

Without bothering to wait for him, Alannah whirled around and began walking back to her repair. 

“But we’re working as fast as we can.” She paused and shifted, frowning at him when he came around to face her again. A small line appeared between her eyebrows that made Poe uneasy. He didn’t relish the notion of getting on Alannah’s bad side yet again. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

“A supply convoy is coming in tomorrow morning. General Organa wants an escort waiting when it comes out of hyperspace.”

“You’re kidding.” Poe started to smile at the deadpan tone of Alannah’s voice but pulled up short when she moved past him, shoulder just barely brushing his. “These units just came in from a long-range mission that saw plenty of combat. On top of that the atmosphere here is wreaking absolute havoc on just about every system and you want to take them out for a spin anyway?”

Poe scowled and pressed his shoulder against the side of the nose cone, facing Alannah where he could see her frown deepen. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger! I didn’t order the mission but if you ask me, it’s a pretty worthy use of our resources. So come on, Corallay, you’ve got to give me more than an ‘I don’t know.’ General Organa is asking.”

Dropping Leia’s name was nothing short of a magic passcode with most Resistance members. If Poe said something needed to be done for Leia then come hell or high water it always got done, not for him but for the revered General. Alannah was no different but he could tell by her hesitance that the answer wasn’t going to be that simple. Her eyes met his and shifted, flashing with uncertainty.

“Even if all of us work all night, there’s no way I can have the entire fleet ready by morning.”

Poe sighed. “Come on Alannah, we need this supply convoy to come in without a hitch.”

“I know that you do but it’s not like we’re talking about simple cosmetic repairs or even secondary things like replacing emergency beacons or re-welding the storage compartments. We’re talking about systems you can’t get in the air without.” 

Poe crossed his arms over his chest. “Like what? Can’t you prioritize the repairs?”

He knew the second the words left his lips that he’d said the way wrong thing. The small traces of sympathy softening Alannah’s features vanished to be replaced with an unforgiving glare, the likes of which might have sent lesser men running. The ferocity of her disapproval was only magnified by the fact that she stood within two inches of his height and her large eyes could hold that much more vitriol. 

“Commander, I mean this with all due respect.” She definitely didn’t mean it with due respect but Poe wisely chose to keep that thought to himself. “What do you think we do here all day? Roll dice to see what work we’re going to bother with? Draw repair jobs from a hat?” 

“Okay, point taken. You don’t tell me how to fly, I don’t tell you how to do your job.” Her eyebrows rose in silent agreement. “But seriously, what kind of repairs are we talking? There are things we can live without for an escort mission, right?”

Alannah crossed her arms over her chest, wires still looped around her wrist and hand solder tool dangling from between two fingers. The corner of her mouth quirked. 

“Well, that depends, Commander. Do you enjoy breathing oxygen?”

Poe shifted his weight and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d say I’m a pretty big fan, yeah.”

“The sensors that detect the correct amount of oxygen to pump into the cockpit have all been damaged by the moon’s atmosphere. The fog exposed a flaw in the housing for the actual converter pump and we found mold growing on the surface of a handful of hoses. Because we’re talking about the life support system that, you know, actually keeps you--” she jabbed a finger toward his chest “--alive, we have to address the issue for every fighter, not just the affected ones.”

Poe rocked back on his heels. He could hear the exhaustion weighing in Alannah’s tone. “That seems pretty important.”

“It is,” she admitted with a sigh. “And that’s not even touching the issues we’re having with the hyperdrive compressors and the normal damage we see after a fight.”

“So, what you’re saying is it’s gonna be a while,” he deadpanned, picking up on her not-so-subtle hinting.

“I’m saying that I doubt General Organa wants to send her remaining pilots into space in ships that can’t even make the jump to lightspeed and even if they could, chances are the life support system would crap out and you’d suffocate before you even dropped back into real space.” 

“Well that sounds pretty bad,” Poe reasoned and almost smirked when she glared at him, unamused by his candor. 

“We’re finished when we’re finished, Commander Dameron.”

“Corallay, you say that so often you should just get it tattooed, like--” he gestured a hand across his forehead “--right here. It’d save you a ton of trouble.”

“I’m thinking about it,” she groused as she turned back to the nose cone and resumed her work. “Or maybe I should have it tattooed on your hand because I say it to you the most.”

He couldn't help himself; a laugh popped out of his lips before he could stop it. Alannah muttered something that sounded distinctly like ‘please go away now’ under her breath but he didn’t quite catch it. Although they seldom spoke with each other, Poe did like the way Alannah could turn his words against him in an instant. He liked how she often slipped into total candor without realizing it, despite her every effort to respect rank - despite the decidedly casual air amongst the Resistance staff.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked up to the battered X-Wing, drinking in the blast marks and deep scratches in the hull, layers of battle scars that told a story not many people could read. But Poe could and so could Alannah and that was why, her blatant distaste for him aside, he respected the hell out of her. Still, Poe didn’t relish taking that news to Leia but he realized that there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

“Well, do the best you can do and we’ll just have to work with what we got.” 

“Unless,” she began just as he started to leave, bound for the operations room to disappoint Leia. She passed a hand over her brow, doing her best to keep her look of long-suffering at bay. Poe perked up. ‘Unless’ was usually followed up by some offer for a compromise and although he wasn’t the most compromising sort out there, at this point he was willing to listen to just about any idea.

“Unless what?” 

“Unless you only need to take out a specific number of units. If that’s the case, I can regroup the team and we can focus solely on those. If I do that, I can probably have about four up and running by morning.  _ Maybe _ six.”

Four wasn’t a lot but Poe could work with four; he’d worked with far less before. “Let me check in with the General but I think that ought to do. Just start with the units that need the least amount of work, will you?”

Alannah crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a look that clearly said ‘don’t tell me how to do my job.’ He realized a second too late that he was lingering unnecessarily long. Both of her eyebrows rose higher up her forehead, almost disappearing beneath her headband. 

“Did you need anything else?” 

“Nope, no I do not,” Poe stated and tipped his head toward her. Spinning on his heel he made for the side door, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Always a pleasure, Corallay!” His voice was loud enough to echo through the hangar, something he knew would embarrass the daylights out of her. “Always a pleasure.”

Neither Poe, nor anyone else working in the hangar for that matter, saw the discreet middle finger Alannah flashed at his retreating back.

X X X

Alannah had long since given up trying to keep her muttering to herself. The hangar housing the X-Wings on Waveren was little more than a large cave hewn into the rock and she felt claustrophobic within its confines. Every so often drops of water, mineral runoff from somewhere in the mountain, came down from the ceiling, plinking off the top of her head and dotting her coveralls. Her lower back ached from her position atop the fuselage, leaning over so she could see into the tight compartment containing the fighter’s life support system. 

The problem with the T-70 wasn’t that it was a bad machine; quite the contrary. The problem was with these specific T-70’s and the storm of abuse they’d endured over multiple starfights in a litany of systems. Housed in ancient or poorly ventilated hangars, the poor T-70s were at the mercy of a rag-tag band of technicians, many of them highly skilled but stuck using old tools and constantly strapped for adequate parts. No ship, not even a model as resilient and enduring as the X-Wing could take a perpetual beating forever. The fissures and cracks were starting to show, with vital systems succumbing to elements that they normally should withstand.

Alannah wondered if that was a metaphor for something deeper, a parallel to the struggling Resistance. She’d missed the battle on Crait, having been with a small Resistance team halfway across the galaxy, inspecting and bartering for a new medical frigate only to receive the coded transmission to bypass returning to D’Qar and head straight for Waveren instead. They only learned about the escape from D’Qar and Crait when they landed. What she and her team found on the gloomy moon was a dramatically reduced Resistance and a badly battered fleet. Every direction she looked, she saw faces shadowed with grief and the struggle to keep hopelessness at bay. Alannah tried not to think about the friends she’d lost but she felt their absence and echo all the same.

“Fissures and cracks everywhere,” she murmured to herself. 

She pulled her goggles down over her eyes and fired up her welding torch. The tell-tale crackling sound reached her ears and sparks flew up as she began the delicate process of re-welding the hatch covering the oxygen converter. With this repair complete, all she had to do was replace the hyperdrive motivators, run diagnostics and this unit would be good to go. 

A loud bang and a puff of smoke across the hangar caught Alannah’s attention. She raised her head and pulled her goggles up in time to see two younger technicians jump back in shock, waving away the smoke. Alannah swallowed a groan. So much for being almost finished. If Avik ever decided to crawl out of his bed, she was going to give him an earful so painful he’d need burn treatments by the time it was over. Leaving her high and dry with a band of untested, barely trained technicians set loose on the precious few X-Wings left wasn’t just a recipe for disaster, it was a guarantee. She’d promised Commander Dameron four units and at the rate they were going, she wasn’t going to be finished in time. The last thing she felt like doing was dealing with Dameron’s infamously non-existent patience but even more than that, she didn’t want to disappoint General Organa. 

“Alannah!” One of the technicians, a man by the name of Sycheck, yelled for her. 

Alannah looked down to the other technician working on the unit. “Hey, Ngala?”

“Yeah!” 

“Can you finish welding this hatch shut? I’ve got to go see what Sycheck managed to break.” 

Ngala held a gloved hand to cover her smile, bright white teeth standing out against her dark skin. She nodded and waited for Alannah to climb off the top of the fuselage before taking her place. Alannah strode across the hangar to where Sycheck’s companion, Herran, was using a wet rag to nurse a nasty cut that tore clean through his coveralls. Alannah bit back a sigh. 

Planting her hands on her narrow hips, Alannah shook her head. “Herran, go to medical and get that sorted. Sycheck, care to explain what happened?”

The freckled kid dissolved into a semi-hysterical speech about how he’d been trying to replace one of the hyperdrive converters and managed to trip a sensor in the engine, causing a vicious backfire. Alannah pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“It’s okay,” she promised, though it was far from okay. “Go see if Ngala needs help, I can handle this.” 

“Alannah, I can--”

“I’m not punishing you,” she promised upon seeing his crestfallen face. “But these repairs are delicate and I’ll work faster alone. When we slow down though, I promise I’ll teach you how to do it, okay?” Sycheck’s face rose and he offered her a bashful smile. His cheeks flushed pink when she grinned back at him and then waved him off to help Ngala. 

She grabbed a rag and began to wipe the dust and smoke staining the metal so she could see what she had to work with. Upon the sight of the area mangled around the hyperdrive port, she dropped her head back and released a tiny groan toward the ceiling. This repair was going to take all night. 

Minutes blended into hours. Eventually the light faded and soon it was just Alannah and a few of the senior mechanics left. She was sitting atop a stool, neck bent over her work, teasing her way through a grouping of wires when a friendly voice at her back perked her up.

“I think you work harder than anyone else here.”

Spinning around, Alannah gave Rose Tico a tired smile. “Coming from you, that’s a lot. I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“How can I help?”

Alannah tilted her head toward the engine. “I need to replace all of this shot wiring and then I think I can finally install the new hyperdrive converter before moving onto the rest.” 

Rose, who had once been a fellow technician working side-by-side with her, retreated to the open crate of wires. These days her friend led the Resistance’s Engineering Corps, which included the group of technicians responsible for the maintenance of the starfighters. Now Rose spent most of her time overseeing the general operations of the various groups of technicians or advising Leia on the state of all things tech. But, when she got the chance, Rose liked to wander back to her old stomping grounds, which included spending time with her friends, Alannah included. 

“I heard you had a dust up with Poe this afternoon,” Rose commented, far too casually to be innocent. 

Whether she was fishing for gossip or just wanted to take a moment to enjoy teasing her friend about it, Alannah didn’t care. “I think he might be the most impatient man I’ve ever met.” 

“He’s a pilot,” Rose observed. “All pilots are impatient - they want to get to the fight right away and like solving their problems with canons. But you can’t really blame him for not wanting to hang around here. Not after everything that happened.”

“I guess.”

Alannah supposed that Rose was right. There wasn’t much any of them could do except take a deep breath and wait for the next move. Despite their miraculous escape and chance to regroup, the First Order still held the upper hand and everyone knew it. And yet, Alannah had always preferred to keep her feet on solid ground. Despite her love for all things mechanical, especially starfighters and other ships, she had never been much for actually flying. Her mechanical acumen provided the basis for her knowledge of flight. In theory, she could fly any machine in the Resistance fleet but she’d never tried nor had the desire to. The thrill of flight was best left to others, people with an insatiable drive for adrenaline and adventure. People like Poe Dameron. 

“You know he thinks you hate him.”

Alannah rolled her eyes. “I don’t hate Commander Dameron,” she refuted. It was hard to hate anyone that charismatic and passionate, even if he drove her nuts. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Most of the time I don’t particularly like him but hate is an awfully strong sentiment. Not that he actually cares about my opinion.”

Rose held the terminal end of a wire for Alannah to solder in place. 

“You’re just all business,” Rose suggested. 

Alannah shut off her soldering tool and set it aside.

“Exactly.” She did not see Rose roll her eyes and she didn’t realize that she’d missed the sarcastic point of Rose’s observation. The truth was Alannah  _ was _ all business. Her sole purpose for being in the Resistance was to help keep its starfighters up and running. And if she wasn’t working to serve that end then what was she doing? In her rare downtime she liked spending time with the ground crew, the grunts and low-levels who kept the Resistances chugging forward. Alannah didn’t have a place with the high ranking Resistance leaders and she didn’t want one. She fit where she was, better than she had anywhere else in her life. 

“You know, you could probably delegate the rest of the work out to a couple of techs who’ve had a few hours of sleep so you can get some shut eye or, if you wanted, a group of us are getting together for a drink - Connix, Beaumont, Leets, and a few others.”

Alannah would have liked to see her friends. It felt like ages since they’d been together but the thought of leaving the other technicians behind felt wrong. Just because she was in a position to delegate the work didn’t mean that she should. That was something Avik would do, bug off to play dice and drink while everyone else did the tedious work and ran diagnostics. Alannah didn’t want to be like that; she didn’t want the others to think she wouldn’t pull her weight when things came down to the wire. The answer painted itself across her face, a mixture between disappointment and a resigned smile. 

“I’m sorry, Rose, I ought to stay here and make sure everything gets finished. Plus the others have all been working to the bone since we landed. They deserve a little rest.”

Now Rose did frown. A kind sympathy swirled into her eyes as though she could read something Alannah was projecting that she couldn’t even read herself. She felt oddly exposed under the force of Rose's understanding. Alannah wasn’t accustomed to being so wholeheartedly welcomed by so many people or being treated like she had value beyond her skill as a mechanic. She almost flinched when Rose laid a hand so gentle on her forearm that Alannah almost didn’t feel it through her coveralls. 

“You deserve to take care of yourself, too. I don’t want you getting burned out either.”

“I don’t know if I can. Working on these fighters is a dream come true, even if they are on the verge of falling apart.”

Rose pursed her lips together and cast a look at the T-70. At almost twenty-five years old, this particular unit was really beginning to show its age. “I know. We’re working on ways to get some fresh models in but working the back channels is getting tougher. The First Order’s already choked off most of our resource streams.” 

“Yeah, it’s just getting harder and harder, isn’t it?”

A shadow passed Rose’s face, reminding Alannah that she’d been in the full thick of Crait and saw the devastation first hand. Not only that but she’d lost her beloved sister, Paige, and barely had any time to grieve. And yet in spite of all of that, her face shone with hope and she gave Alannah an encouraging little nod of her head.

“We still have each other. That counts for a lot.” Rose got to her feet and gave Alannah’s arm one last friendly squeeze. “If you change your mind, we’ll be in Connix and Mendela’s quarters. But you should probably get some sleep as soon as you can, okay?”

“I will.” Alannah promised. 

She waited until Rose left her to blow out the sigh she didn’t realize she’d been holding in. Reaching up, she rubbed a particularly sore spot at the back of her neck. The notion of falling onto her uncomfortable cot and sleeping for a decade sounded pretty good but there was still so much more work to be done. Alannah shelved the longing for now and bent her head over her work once more, determined to have six units up and running by dawn.

X X X

Eventually, shafts of watery light cut through the ever-present fog. Alannah liked the way the fog swirled in formless, unpredictable patterns as the spires passed through the bleak morning. Over the past hour she’d been so engrossed in running final diagnostic checks on the six ready fighters that she failed to notice the slow trickle of people into the hangar. As she unplugged her diagnostic pad from the port in the cockpit of the last fighter, she paused at the top of the ladder and looked around. The lead up to any mission, no matter the size, grew exponentially in chaos the closer it got. Ground crew infiltrated the hangar, weaving between technicians to load survival equipment in the storage compartments, ensure that every pilot’s assigned unit was set up to their liking and be prepared to guide traffic so each fighter got out one at a time in a tight cluster. That wasn’t accounting for the members of operations tracking people down, checking last minute details, altering any orders and generally getting under foot. 

And then there were the pilots, usually the last to arrive from their final briefing but the most noticeable. Alannah herself was glad she didn’t have to walk around the hangar dressed in that familiar, eye-watering shade of orange, sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of muted colors. She liked her plain coveralls and the headband she used in part to try and keep part of her shockingly pale blonde hair hidden. 

“Hey! Corallay, this one good to go?”

Alannah looked down at a member of the ground crew. Without thinking about it, she knocked two knuckles against the hull, a strange little superstitious quirk of hers, before climbing down the ladder. “I think there might be a slight hitch in the propulsion getting her off the ground but it shouldn’t cause any problems,” Alannah explained, hoping the crewman would relay that to whichever pilot was stuck with the fighter. “She’s good to go.”

She tucked her diagnostic pad beneath her arm and started to walk toward her next task only to realize she didn’t have one. Sure the other fighters needed fixing but the next shift was due to start that. Her hard push was over now and if she wanted, she could escape to the quarters she shared with three other technicians. A hot shower was calling to her as was her cot because even though it was hard and truly uncomfortable, her exhausted body wouldn’t know the difference. 

Realizing she could slip out of the hangar entirely unnoticed, Alannah started to make her way to the large equipment station near the back to stash her pad with the rest of her tools. A voice rang out, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Hey! Alannah!” 

Whirling around, she watched as one of the six designated pilots jogged toward her, looking like a beacon in his orange jumpsuit. Dres Fitch was about ten years older than Alannah and was one of her favorite people in the whole of the Resistance for a litany of reasons, including the fact that he was one of the nicest men she’d ever met and he’d saved her from falling into the hands of the First Order. 

“Hey, Fitch. You got wrangled into this one?”

“Yeah,” Fitch rubbed the back of his neck with a large hand, looking toward an X-Wing where his usual ground complement was already hard at work. “To be honest, I’m itching to get off this rock. You look dead on your feet - I heard you were part of the crew that stayed up all night to make it happen.”

Alannah frowned and raised her fingers to touch the slightly puffy circles beneath her eyes. She hadn’t even bothered to check the time; how long had she been awake at this point?

“It was nothing,” she started to wave him off but Fitch shook his head and gave her shoulder a little shake. 

“Don’t sell yourself short. You know us flyboys wouldn’t be anywhere without you and your crew.”

Regardless of whether or not that was true, Alannah certainly would never say it out loud. Still, his complement burrowed its way into her heart and she glowed in response. Even if she didn’t need the praise to spur her on to do her job, it was nice to hear nonetheless. She didn’t even bother to point out that technically this wasn’t her crew. Considering Avik was still nowhere to be seen, she felt comfortable taking the credit for this particular job.

“Thanks. Is that your fighter?” 

“Yep,” he jerked his head toward it in a silent invitation for her to follow. “Got any pro tips?”

Alannah smiled now. Whether Fitch realized what he was doing or not, he always managed to find little ways to boost her confidence. “I think you got one of the better ones. You’ll probably have to readjust the seat though; we had to move them to get to the life support systems. Might be a slight kick back when you reach your critical speed to leave the atmosphere.” 

“I hate it when my seat gets moved,” he joked and clapped one of the crewmen on the back as he scuttled past. 

Fitch moved one of his hands over his braids, gathering them up and using a leather tie to keep them at bay at the nape of his neck. He chatted with her idly while he sorted out his hair and checked his harness. As they talked, Alannah watched the comings and goings of the crew, moving like a strangely chaotic and yet totally ordered unit throughout the hangar. 

Another flash of orange caught her eye. Her heart leapt into her throat not at the sight of Poe Dameron but at General Organa. Poe’s dark eyes scanned the hangar until, to Alannah’s shock, they landed on her and stayed. He leaned over to General Organa and muttered something in her ear. Fitch dug an elbow into her side when the pair changed course for them. 

“Look sharp.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alannah muttered under her breath. 

Her heart, still lodged in her throat, beat so hard she could feel it everywhere. Suddenly General Organa was standing directly in front of her. They’d never once spoken; Alannah was absolutely certain that the General had never even heard of her up until this moment. She had to swallow a squeak of surprise when the General bypassed any type of formality and reached for Alannah’s battered, callused hands. 

“Commander Dameron says that you spearheaded the effort to make this happen and I wanted to thank you personally, Miss Corallay. I feel so much better knowing this convoy will have an escort and we owe that entirely to the efforts of you and your team.”

Alannah flushed bright red, cheeks so hot she could feel them beating. Not only was General Organa-- _ the _ legendary Leia Organa--talking directly to Alannah but she knew her name? She was thanking her? Alannah felt slightly faint where she stood.

“It--” she swallowed a gulp of air and tried not to cough in her surprise. “It was nothing, General. I’m just happy we were able to help.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Poe turn his face away and cover his mouth to muffle his snort of laughter. Her heart threatened to sink. Was he really laughing at her right now? 

“Please pass my gratitude on to the other technicians when you get the chance, Miss Corallay,” General Organa said but her eyes followed Alannah’s to the direction of Poe who had only semi-recovered from his fit. “Commander, don’t you have an X-Wing to be in?” 

It was Alannah’s turn to raise a hand to hide her smile. Poe blinked at General Organa like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the sweets jar. “Uh, yes, Sir.” 

“Then I suggest you get to it.” General Organa said before giving Alannah’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you again.”

And then General Organa bade good luck to Fitch before she was gone. Poe shifted his weight and waggled his eyebrows at Alannah. 

“And here you thought I didn’t care.”

She had to dig her fingernails into her palms to quell the urge to give his shin a swift kick. Pointing toward his designated fighter, she raised her chin in defiance. She was not going to let Poe Dameron and his shit-eating grin get the better of her. “Commander, didn’t General Organa give you an order?”

Fitch barked out a laugh but Poe’s grin just widened a tic and she could see the mischief shining in his brown eyes. Unknowingly, she’d caught his attention and now a silent challenge stood between them, a brand new war of wits that he was determined to win. 

“Fitch, I’ll see you up there. Alannah, I’ll see you around. Here’s hoping the life support systems actually work.” 

Without a further word he spun on booted heel and walked away, a definite swagger coloring his gait. Before she could stop herself, Alannah cupped her hands around her mouth and half-shouted. “Yeah, you’re welcome!” 

Poe didn’t even bother turning around. He just waved a dismissive, arrogant hand over his shoulder. Alannah gaped at his retreating back in disbelief. How could he, how could anyone for that matter, do something so simultaneously sweet and obnoxious at the same time? She had a gut feeling that Poe went out of his way to ensure she got recognition for her work but he also took immense pleasure from her obvious embarrassment. And then, after making sure she was praised, he had the gall to take a jab at the efficacy of that work? 

“What a piece of work!” She huffed. 

Fitch chuckled. “That’s Poe for you. You’d better watch yourself though. Now that he knows what you’re capable of, he’s never going to leave you alone.”

“Well he’d better. I’ve got better things to do with my time than put up with cocky, arrogant flyboys who--”

“Hey now, you’re hitting a little too close to home,” Fitch ribbed her once more with a teasing finger into her side. “He likes getting a rise out of people and you’re an easy target, that’s all. Honestly, he’s mostly just swagger. Remember that and you’ll be fine.” 

Alannah frowned. Was there such a thing as just keeping your head down in a place like this? She was starting to think it was impossible. She waited long enough to see Fitch into his X-Wing and watched the six units depart, with Poe in the lead. Doing her best to ignore what happened, Alannah dragged herself to the back of the base where she at last stripped off and all but dove headfirst into her steaming hot shower. Afterward she pulled on a loose shirt and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit her pillow.

X X X

No matter how many times Poe climbed into the cockpit and got airborne, he still got the same rush like it was the first time. There was some intangible element to flying that would never get old. He didn’t care if he was just logging flight hours, running a routine recon or escort mission, or taking on the whole First Order; he lived for the thrill of being airborne. And there was nothing quite like the rapid acceleration, the feel of his back pressed against his seat and the way the sky rapidly lightened as he shot up toward the clouds before the world darkened as the atmosphere fell away and he shot into space. It was a contradiction in terms but when he was off planet, he felt like he could breathe. Up there it was just him, BB-8, his fellow pilots, and the mission. 

And that was all he needed. 

As he careened out into open space he slowed down, waiting for the other five members of his skeleton crew to arrive. One by one they arrived, gliding easily into formation. Drawing in a deep breath, he steadied himself and glanced up through his transparisteel canopy at the nothing surrounding him. 

“Alright folks, this is just a straight-forward escort mission. Your coordinates should be set for the rendezvous point. We’ll meet the convoy and get back here no problems, right?” He flicked a couple of switches, preparing for the jump to lightspeed. “Right. Punch it!”

His field of vision blurred, going stark white as the fighter passed between the realm of real space, shooting into hyperspace with a sharp tug that he felt in the pit of his stomach. Sensors all over the canopy acted in real time, shielding him from the worst of the visual effects and he tried to relax for the short trip. Poe didn’t know why but he felt uneasy. There were no reports of enemy movement in this desolate little pocket of the galaxy and if the convoy were under attack, they’d have heard by now. Poe figured that the First Order was, much like the Resistance, too busy licking its wounds to engage in a fight over a simple supply convoy. 

Although he could handle himself in a fight in any condition, he didn’t relish one right now. He’d lost enough friends in the past few weeks and he literally couldn’t stomach the thought of losing any more. Finally, after years of others trying to hammer it into him, Poe finally understood what it meant to have and exercise restraint. The Dreadnaught and the  _ Raddus _ and Crait proved to be three ruthless teachers and Poe felt the lessons practically seared into his mind and heart. So he silently prayed that the intel reports were true and they would drop out of lightspeed to greet the convoy cruising along. 

At length they came to their coordinates and he dropped his fighter back into real space, opening the S-foils to slow to a cruising speed. Five more fighters appeared on either side of him and although he was aware of their reduced numbers, he still expected to see more. There were too many missing faces, too many silent voices over the comms and Poe could feel each lost friend like a hole bored into his heart. 

“Looks like a nice cruise. You think there’s a pool on the leisure deck?”

Poe heard a handful of snickers at Des Fitch’s joke. “BB-8, open a channel to the lead cruiser.”

Seconds later he heard a crackle before a clear voice came over. The communications officer for the  _ Radiant _ came over, acknowledging their arrival and granted permission for them to join formation. Poe pulled out in a wide turn, sweeping around from beneath to come up next to the cruiser. He didn’t need to look out of the canopy to ensure that the others followed his lead. Despite the varying skill and experience levels, every Resistance pilot knew what they were doing and this small group in particular was particularly high caliber. Poe’s stomach clenched; they had to be high caliber; only the best and most resilient survived the things they had. 

BB-8’s beeping filled his ears and he sighed. Sometimes he swore someone covertly installed some kind of neurological scanner in his droid because somehow BB-8 always honed in on his moods when they shifted. In this instance, BB-8 picked up on the unusual amount of silence on the comms. “I know, buddy. I think it’s weird too.”

Poe wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to silence and unease. When you flew with the same squadron for mission after mission you eventually knew everyone’s voice by heart, knew their call signs, knew their particular flying quirks and with a full squadron there was always chatter. Whether it was pilots calling out their position, alerting others to danger, or just cracking jokes on the flight home, Poe was accustomed to talking. The silence only reminded him that he would never hear some of his favorite voices again or hear the same tired lines over and over. He missed that now. 

Blowing out a long sigh, he closed his eyes for one second to recollect himself. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it now. The past was the past and there wasn’t much of a point in dwelling too hard on it. If Poe allowed himself to dwell then he would surely fall into a well of misery he’d never crawl out of. Plus, he was just like every other sorry sack in the galaxy - damaged goods with enough baggage to fill a Death Star. Mulling too hard over that, thinking too hard over the tiny cracks littering the surface of his would-be carefree bravado just begged for trouble. 

When he opened his eyes, it was to glance to the left and see Tyce cruising next to him. He could just make out her nod of encouragement. 

“Chin up, Commander. Like you said - this is just a straight forward flight.”

BB-8 beeped its resounding agreement. 

And it truly was about as simple as missions got. In fact, the closer they got to Waveren the more bored Poe got. After weeks of non-stop action, he forgot how utterly boring basic missions like this could be. Although he still wasn’t itching for a fight, he wouldn’t have said no to even an unfamiliar, ultimately friendly craft entering their space. Nothing of the sort happened. Eventually they reached the rim of Waveren’s miserable atmosphere and the X-Wings slowed their approach, allowing the convoy to land first. Poe guided his X-Wing back into its designated spot in the hangar, opting for the softer landing that set him gently back onto solid ground. 

It wasn’t until he disengaged the canopy that he realized he hadn’t even once thought about whether or not the ship’s life support system was functioning. He’d been breathing in the perfectly regulated oxygen without even thinking about it. Poe didn’t know why but the thought hit him in a funny spot. Laughter rose up from his lungs and he was shaking his head when a ground attendant reached the top of the ladder to take his helmet.

“Is everything okay, Commander?” The attendant asked.

“Yeah,” he waved the kid off. As he stood up to clamber out of the cockpit he searched the hangar for a flash of Alannah Corallay’s hair but she was nowhere to be found, probably getting a few well-earned hours of sleep. 

Mood instantly lightened, he was still chuckling to himself as he made for operations to debrief General Organa.


	2. New Challenges and Cheap Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the love! I know this is a small story in a small corner of a big fandom so I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this installment!

The supply convoy brought with it a huge surprise. There, nestled in the hangar of the largest frigate were fifteen X-Wings, picked up from a third-party seller that General Organa managed to arrange some weeks before. The fighters were, like almost everything else the Resistance acquired, used but that didn’t diminish the overall hubbub and excitement. At this point, anything to help bolster the badly diminished fleet was welcome. The news that she was in negotiations to procure five bombers to replace the ones lost attacking the Dreadnaught brought even more excitement. 

For Alannah, the arrival of the X-Wings meant more work but also more challenges. She would be lying to herself if she said she dreaded the waiting tasks. The over inquisitive, insatiable side of her personality lived for projects like this. Learning a new machine was, to Alannah, akin to learning a new lover. To most people, an X-Wing was an X-Wing - a fighter, a ship that had a specific purpose, nothing more, nothing less. But Alannah knew differently. She loved to run her hands over the hull, tracing past blast marks and battle scars, learning the tiny details that differentiated one ship from another. To determine a ship’s history, all she had to do was peel back the panels and read the story written in the way a ship was wired, the parts used, and the tell-tale marks of the various tools used to keep it up and running. Alannah could look at the innards of the flight computer or inside the engine casing and determine what quirks or problems a pilot might run into, what needed to be repaired and what work had been done with a careful or reckless hand. She loved these fighters and she loved taking care of them even more. 

She wanted nothing more than to disappear into the work. When Alannah was elbow deep in the nose cone repairing wiring, she didn’t have to think about the outside world. She existed in a unique space where time slowed and the only things that existed were her and the machine at the mercy of her expert hands. The looming threat of the First Order diminished to nothing more than a muted whine in a deep corner of her mind where it could stay with the rest of her darker thoughts. Untangling wires was cathartic and Alannah often imagined each wire was one of her own hopelessly tangled thoughts and emotions. She could mull over her memories from a safe place, rehashing old events and conversations, thinking with regret over the things she did and longing over what she wished she’d said. Even if she couldn’t completely reorganize and fix the damage scarring her mind and heart, Alannah always felt better after bringing a touch of her signature neatness to the mangled insides of a fighter. And normally she would be itching to be given free reign on any one of the fifteen new additions to the fleet, or all of them if Avik and the sheer availability of hours in the day would let her.

There was just one problem.

“Avik, please let me delegate this out.”

Avik, the head mechanic for the crew tasked with keeping up the X-Wings, was an excellent teacher and affable enough. But he also had a ruthless streak and a twisted sense of humor. No matter how many times Alannah exceeded his expectations, he still took great pleasure in putting her through the wringer. This instance was no different. 

“Sorry, Corallay, no can do.” 

She followed him between the row of tables in the mess, trying her hardest not to clench her pear tight enough to leave dents in it. 

“Yes. Yes, you can do! You’re just choosing not to!” 

Sure enough, she heard Avik’s tell-tale chuckle as he ambled ahead of her, his green head bobbing along. “There’s that, too.”

Alannah jogged around him and whirled around to face him, stopping the Rodian in his tracks. He blinked his enormous eyes a few times and his antennae twitched in curiosity but Alannah couldn’t tell what he was thinking otherwise. 

“Avik, you know me. I’m good with machines, not people. Literally any other technician in the crew is qualified for this job.”

“And yet Commander Dameron specifically requested you.”

Now Alannah knew she wasn’t mistaking the amusement in his voice. Between Avik and Alannah it was something of a toss-up over who found the Commander more irritating. Why Poe specifically asked for her to review each of the fleet’s X-Wings to help him select a new one to replace  _ Black One _ was a bigger question that Alannah would shelve for later. She really didn’t want to think about his motivations in the moment. All that mattered was that he had targeted her for this task and what she could do to get out of it. 

“Avik, please. The man drives me nuts. In the year since I’ve been under your command I have literally never asked you for anything but I’m asking you for this. My skills are put to better use cataloging and triaging the repair list and then getting to work. Not acting as Commander Dameron’s personal shopper.”

Alannah scowled when Avik snorted in laughter, blowing a waft of his foul breath in her face. She belatedly realized that her vehement argument against this particular assignment only further sealed her fate. Avik had a perverse sense of humor and he enjoyed watching others squirm, even his trusted second-in-command. He would frame it as some sort of lesson on the importance of learning to work with others but Alannah knew the truth: he just enjoyed other people’s misery. 

“A job is a job, Corallay,” he remarked and led her out of the mess and down the hall to the open doorway leading into the cavernous hangar. “And I believe the Commander is already waiting for you.”

Alannah glanced down the main aisle separating two rows of X-Wings and there, leaning against a maintenance ladder was Poe. She wondered if he practiced his nonchalant posture because no human she’d ever met had exhibited quite so much ease, as though he’d been born to do things like wear leather jackets and lean against ladders. A traitorous voice in Alannah’s head recognized that he possessed a certain rakish quality. His dark hair swept away from his clear face in thick waves and she almost wanted to ask if he used a slide rule to get the edges of his stubble so perfect. Yes, even Alannah could admit that Poe was an attractive man. She also thought it was a shame that he was just as aware of it as everyone else. 

His gaze fell on her and one corner of his mouth rose in a grin. For the first time in her life she avidly wished she had control of the Force just so she could make Poe smack himself across the face to dislodge his smirk. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing and regardless of whether this was payback for her attitude a few days prior or, like Fitch said, because he’d found a new target, Alannah’s dread grew with every step she took toward him. Then her attention dropped lower and her eyes fell on the familiar orange and white BB unit that followed Poe nearly everywhere he went. Alannah had a fondness for BB units and was familiar with a few of the Resistance droids, particularly the one that flew with Fitch. But, despite its notoriety, Alannah had yet to meet Poe’s faithful droid.

As she drew within earshot, Poe pushed away from the ladder. 

Sucking in a breath, Alannah decided the best way to handle the situation was to simply get through it. Personal feelings aside, Commander Dameron was right at the top of the ladder of command while Alannah was hanging off a rung close to rock bottom. She couldn’t go around disrespecting him beyond her normal brusque nature that she reserved for most people. And so, she decided to be the better person.

“Good morning, Commander.”

Poe rubbed his hands together. “Morning, Alannah. Have you met BB-8?”

She shook her head and crouched low, ensuring that Poe didn’t misinterpret her welcoming smile as for him. “I haven’t but it’s nice to meet you, BB-8. You’re going to help us out?”

BB-8 rolled back, sliding his head to look up at his master. Alannah wasn’t surprised by his skittish nature; BB units were programmed to be wary of strangers, a self-preservation mechanism that typically served them well. Poe nodded in encouragement and the droid beeped in affirmation. Alannah’s smile grew at its enthusiastic response.

“Well, between you and me, there’s not much to look at here but we’ll do the best we can. That sound good?”

Another enthusiastic beep brought a little laugh out of Alannah and when she straightened up it was to find Poe grinning at her. She swore that his grin widened a fraction when the amusement dropped off her face in response.

“Ready for this?”

Alannah swallowed her snappy reply and nodded before she took a bite of her pear. While she chewed, she surveyed the available X-Wings, including the new fighters. Although all of the ships had seen action in one form or another, in her cursory review during unloading the night before there were a handful that she deemed less battered than others. She swallowed her bite and asked the question on her mind before taking another. 

“Where would you like to start?”

Poe couldn’t seem to settle on just one fighter. His eager eyes bounced from one to the other and a tiny, irritating part of Alannah was desperately curious to know what he was thinking. As the X-Wing Commander for the Resistance, he got first pick out of all of the ships, which wasn’t a bad spot to be in. Alannah wasn’t sure she’d ever met a pilot that wasn’t finicky about their aircraft, whether it was wanting a specific seat and harness to using only a certain manufacturer for the targeting system. Considering the absolute beauty that  _ Black One _ had been before her unceremonious death, Alannah suspected Poe was no different from every other pilot in that regard. It then dawned on her that replacing a ship like  _ Black One _ , highly-customized and perfect in nearly every regard, was going to be a near-impossible task. 

“Avik said you had a chance to look them over yesterday, right?”

She shrugged a narrow shoulder. “Only briefly. A few models stand out but it’d help to know what you’re looking for.”

“I don’t have an exact--,” Poe admitted, drawing out his words and gesturing vaguely towards the fleet. “I’ll just know it when I see it.”

Well that was just...great...she thought, internally deflating. Alannah had hoped that she would show him the cream of the crop and Poe would choose one, give her a long list of modifications and she could take it from there. In her mind this exercise should have only taken an hour tops but she could tell, just from the way Poe examined the fleet from afar, that this was going to be an all-consuming project. Rather than sigh or groan in her disappointment, she took another bite of her pear. 

Poe’s gut feeling method left Alannah at square one. “How about we start with the models I’ve earmarked and go from there. Just keep in mind, we’ll have to do some repairs and make modifications no matter what. None of them are in perfect condition.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Poe rocked back on his heels. “Sometimes the battered fighters are the best. They’ve got the most character.”

Of course that’s what he was looking for. Alannah didn’t know why she was surprised. In and of himself, Poe was a character and the fact that he wanted the same for his ship made perfect sense. She spared a glance for BB-8; even he was a custom unit, the bold orange and white color scheme wasn’t the standard from the manufacturer. _Black One_ had also been a mechanical marvel, beautifully designed and customized, full of odd quirks and tics to the point that the only pilot in the galaxy who could well and truly fly her was the man standing next to Alannah now. That ship, unlike so many of the fleet’s former X-Wings, had character to spare. A pang of sympathy in her gut reminded Alannah that Poe was bereft of his beloved ship and not a single X-Wing in this hangar was going to replace what he lost. 

At the moment, however, he didn’t appear to be feeling the loss. There was a distinct bounce in his step and he led her to the very first fighter in the row. Alannah trailed after him, trying to make sense of his behavior. The man could literally have his pick of the X-Wings in the small fleet. Hell, he did have his pick of the X-Wings and he wasn’t concerned about at least culling the herd down to the choice picks. He reminded her of the prospectors on her home planet, Laryaia, men and women who picked apart the planet’s expansive subterranean cave network, examining every square inch of hundreds of caves looking for the best places to dig for ore deposits. Poe rubbed his chin, intense eyes narrowed in concentration, like he was going to give a thorough once-over to each one like a man determined to inspect every Nerf at an auction, looking for the choicest cuts and shiniest hide. He obviously knew he was looking for some ineffable, intangible quality that Alannah couldn’t hope to know unless she were an actual mind-reader, which begged the all-important question: why in the hell did he need her? 

She was just beginning to wonder if she could slip away unnoticed while he remained engrossed in the X-Wing when he called for her. “Will you come look at this?”

“Sure, Commander.”

Poe held up a hand to stop her, shaking his head once. “Oh no, if we’re going to work together all morning you have got to drop the ‘Commander’ business or it’ll get real old, real fast. It’s Poe. I’ll even answer to ‘hey you’ or ‘not that one, idiot.’” 

“Okay,” she ground out, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

“Or don’t use my name at all, that works too,” he grumbled just loud enough for her to hear when she joined him. “What do you think?”

Alannah wanted to melt into the floor and die. Was he really going to ask her opinion on every single X-Wing in the hangar? Stars bless, they were going to be there all damn day if he was going to do that. The only way she saw out of it was to do her best to steer him in the right direction.

“Most of the flight computer’s been replaced with non-Incom parts, including a few manufacturers I don’t know and judging from the patch jobs on the hull, I’d say it’s been through it and not repaired by particularly skilled hands.” 

BB-8 let out a short series of uncertain beeps, thankfully driving Alannah’s point home.

“Yeah,” he rubbed his chin and then shook his head. “Not wild about the flight computer being screwed around with either. Had a bad experience with that once.”

“Then there are a couple more you should skip.” She pointed out three other fighters that she suspected came from the same third-party dealer because they all bore the same tell-tale signs of incompetent maintenance. She knew that General Organa had to work with what she could get and trusted the technicians to do their job and fix the damage, but if she’d been given the option, Alannah would have preferred combing more back channels to find some better fighters. “If the interior work looks anything like the outside, then those units are just tinderboxes waiting to go up in flames and who knows how long it’s going to take to undo all that damage. I sincerely doubt you’ll want to wait around for us to finish the work.”

“And hear you say ‘we’re finished when we’re finished’ over and over again? Yeah, hard pass. See? This is why I wanted you around.”

“Ah, I thought it was just to waste my morning.” The words slipped off her tongue before she could stop them. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she stared at Poe wide-eyed in shock. BB-8’s offended sounds only further exacerbated her embarrassment. “I can’t believe I just said that. Poe, I am so sorry. That was completely inappropriate and totally unjustified.” 

The ensuing silence was so deafening, Alannah swore she could hear the thoughts racing through his mind, the loudest being his internal debate over how to reprimand her for her total insolence. Whatever acerbic thoughts burned holes in her brain and no matter how acutely she felt them, Alannah had no business telling a damned Resistance Commander those thoughts. He was second-in-command to General Organa for crying out loud and even if he weren’t, she knew better than to let her razor of a tongue get the better of her. Alannah braced herself for the worst but her open-mouthed horror rapidly morphed into shock when Poe snorted in laughter, took her by the shoulders, spun her about and all but marched her to the next X-Wing. 

“At least you're using my name now, so I’m gonna call it progress. Also, if you really want to cut deep you’re gonna have to try a lot harder. General Organa has insulted me way worse than that, on multiple occasions.” 

Alannah couldn’t even think of anything to say in response to that and she didn’t have to. As soon as she was before the next X-Wing, he let go and knocked a fist against the fuselage. The sound of something loosening and rattling around caught his attention and hers. At the exact same time they both spoke. 

“Definitely not that one,” she muttered and ducked beneath the nose cone to move on.

“No, no thanks.” Poe followed her. 

BB-8 rolled ahead, weaving expertly between the ship’s landing gear, casting a sensor array into the open droid socket. Poe ambled over and crouched down next to him, placing a friendly hand on the droid’s large spherical body. “What do you think, buddy?”

Alannah didn’t want to admit it, but she liked the way he talked to BB-8 more like a faithful pet than an astromech. She’d seen too many people treat droids like nothing more than a jumble of parts, a required annoyance and she appreciated anyone who took the time to show respect, especially to droids programmed to help keep their masters alive. BB-8 rattled off a handful of specs that Alannah wouldn’t have known until she could take a deep dive into the engine compartment but she agreed with the droid’s overall assessment. When BB-8 shifted his photoreceptor to look at Alannah, Poe followed his example. 

“I agree,” she hoped that would go a little way toward erasing BB-8’s offense at her insulting his master. “I haven’t had a chance to really look at the circuitry but the outer body is in great condition, all things considered and the flight computer appears to be intact. From the carbon scoring and marks on the hull, I think it’s seen action but hasn’t been put through the wringer like some of the others.”

“So it’s got potential,” Poe mused, pausing to take a closer look at the neat closure of the S-foils, running a critical hand over the top of the wing. “Alright, I’m not totally sold but we’ll keep this one in mind.”

One-by-one, Poe examined each of the X-Wings, Alannah and BB-8 trailing after him, offering their color commentary and professional opinions. He was an attentive listener and took advice surprisingly well. Poe cast away several options and provided excellent insights of his own, revealing he had a deeper knowledge of the intricacies of the X-Wing’s design than she originally suspected. Their opinions, for the most part, lined up and after a while Alannah forgot to be annoyed because she was so engrossed in the process. Going through each fighter served a dual purpose for her because now she knew the fleet a little better, which never hurt. As they made decisions, eliminated fighters from consideration and Alannah slowly learned the specific things he was really looking for, at last the full picture emerged. 

When at last they finished, Poe sat down on a crate to talk to BB-8 but Alannah already knew everything she needed to know. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cleared her throat, catching his attention. 

“The third one,” she said with total certainty. “Whatever this--” she mimicked his swirling hand motion from earlier “--is, you’re going to find it in the third one. Give me a chance to do the necessary repairs and make mods to your liking and I promise, you’ll never want to fly anything else.”

The offer slipped off Alannah’s tongue before she could stop it. There was a frustrating part of her that lived for a good challenge and getting a fighter up and running to Poe’s liking would certainly be a challenge. But Alannah was also confident in her skills. She could do certain repairs in her sleep, prided herself on having the neatest wiring technique out of all the technicians and she possessed a signature style that nobody could touch. She was the best person for the job; she knew it just as surely as she knew Poe was going to take her up on her offer, just to see if she was actually worth all the salt she was spilling at his feet. 

He rose, planting his hands on his hips and turning toward the third unit in the hangar. Lines of carbron-scoring littered the body and Alannah’s mental list of primary work was already decently long but her chest swelled in anticipation, waiting for Poe to make up his mind. BB-8 shifted between them, photoreceptor bouncing whirring back and forth between them like he was watching a particularly intense null hockey match. 

“That one, huh?” Poe repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“That one,” Alannah confirmed.

Slowly, the cloud over his face cleared and excitement to mirror hers eased his furrowed brows, lit his eyes and softened his mouth. When he nodded, Alannah deflated in relief. At least now with this decision out of the way, she could put her head down and get to work. But then he did something she did not expect. Poe peeled off his jacket, giving her a glimpse of his shoulders straining against his shirt. He folded the jacket over his arm and jerked his head toward the X-Wing.

“Alright, Alannah. Then let’s get to work.”

BB-8 took off toward the fighter with an enthusiastic beep and Poe started after him. Alannah stared after the pair, feeling like someone pulled the rug right out from beneath her feet. What happened to the promise of a quiet afternoon cataloguing necessary repairs and maintenance?

“Wait...what?”

X X X

A few beads of sweat gathered at Poe’s temples, banding together before slipping down his cheeks and catching in his stubble. He raised his forearm to wipe it away, wetting the sleeve of his white shirt. If he’d known he was going to be elbow deep in the guts of an X-Wing, he might have thought to wear something a little more conducive to hard labor. The decision to strip off his jacket and join Alannah in evaluating his new starfighter was spur-of-the-moment, made entirely by the fact that he was so curious to see what Alannah saw in this ship that he simply had to stay and find out. Sure, he could have given her his usual list of preferences, modifications and left her and BB-8 to begin the slog but where was the fun in that? 

Poe wanted to see what Alannah could do with her hands. Pilots talked. They talked about their successes and failures, they gossiped about each other and they also talked about their mechanics. As time wore on, names got around for good and bad reasons. Poe trusted the pilots in his squadron and took their word as law on subjects like who to let near his ship and who needed to keep away at all costs. Although the technicians all operated under the assumption that they were nameless and faceless to the pilots, everyone knew that simply wasn’t true. Poe knew the name of every X-Wing technician in the Resistance and he had his favorites but the one name who consistently earned glowing praise that he never really worked with was Alannah. That was due to his own faults, his pride all but shoving his foot in his mouth and insulting her to the point that she had zero desire to be within ten feet of him or  _ Black One _ . That was why he treated their encounter a few days earlier as a gift, one he wasn’t going to squander this time around.

Word was Alannah couldn’t be matched for skill or neatness. One of Poe’s oddest quirks was that he liked neatness when it came to the interior of his X-Wing. Nicely grouped wires, immaculate circuitry and ordered chaos were how Poe was able to navigate the inside of his ship whenever he needed to do emergency repairs. There were too many technicians, even the head technician Avik himself, who valued speed over organization and although many of them did an excellent job, the end product still left something to be desired. But if everything Dres Fitch and Snapp Wexley had to say about Alannah’s untouchable work was true, not only was Poe determined to steal her away from them to be the primary technician on his new X-Wing, he wasn’t going to feel the least bit sorry about it. 

At the moment she sat on top of the fuselage, the top panels removed to inspect the circuitry that controlled the pull-through mechanism on the droid socket. BB-8 bobbled nervously on the ground below, head tilted back to look up into the chute that worked to hold him in place during flight. Poe fought the urge to smile. Although he didn’t take offense to Alannah’s earlier comment about wasting her morning, he wasn’t half as sensitive as his droid. 

“Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s give this a shot.”

BB-8’s uncertain beeps betrayed his overall uncertainty about Alannah. What was this new person doing tinkering with Poe’s ship? Why did Poe want someone around who had insulted him?

There were plenty of things BB-8 understood but there was a whole host of human emotions and eccentricities that he never would. Poe wasn’t certain there was an easy way to get his droid to understand that sometimes being insulted was a good thing. The fact of the matter was, regardless of how backward it seemed, Poe liked women who insulted him. He liked women who saw right past the whole best-pilot-in-the-Resistance business and who weren’t afraid to stand up to him when he was being obnoxious. His father had always told him to find a partner who wouldn’t put up with his shit and avoid the ones who would because they’d never stand on equal footing. Although that advice often led him down a lonely road with few potential partners, Poe stuck to it because he’d rather pass on a hundred pretty girls who laughed at all of his jokes, holding out for the one who would roll her eyes and call him an idiot and still be willing to kiss him. 

He’d found that once. But that was a long time and a whole host of mistakes ago. 

The fact of the matter was that BB-8 was never going to fully understand that sometimes nice wasn’t the best thing. Sometimes the best thing was having his ego unceremoniously punctured in order to keep him anchored to the ground. 

“It’s okay, buddy.” Poe encouraged his droid who shifted uncertainly. He ducked beneath the edge of the wing and crouched next to him. 

Alannah’s face appeared over the edge and he caught the sight of a little smear of oil on her cheek. “The mechanism works just fine, all I want to see is if any joints are moving jerkily or need to be greased.” 

“See? No big deal.”

BB-8 eyed Poe before he rolled into the exact spot beneath the chute and held perfectly still. “Thank you!” Alannah called as she pressed the button on her remote that started up the loader. The arms reached down in a smooth motion, grasping BB-8 and pulling him through to the top with no trouble at all. Poe tried not to look too hard at her self-satisfied little smile. “Well, that’s one problem down,” she announced as she lowered BB-8 back down who immediately rolled over to Poe’s leg. Poe tried not to stare as Alannah stood and stretched her arms high overhead before she swung her willowy body onto the ladder and climbed down. 

“And a long list to go,” he pointed out, betraying his lingering dubious feelings over the X-Wing.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” she seemed to have momentarily forgotten her irritation with him, too caught up in the thrill of a new job to care. 

“Not that bad?” He echoed in shock. “Alannah, I think you’re going to be working on this forever.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am not! Besides, I thought you wanted a ship with character? I told you that you were going to have to look past the obvious issues. There’s a lot to admire about the handiwork here. Most of the parts are original Incom and the circuitry is beautifully done. Honestly Poe, I really think she’s the best of the lot.”

Poe was sorely tempted that she wasn’t saying much by that considering the state of the fleet but he swallowed his comment because the expression on her face stilled his heart for a beat. Nothing short of open admiration filled her large eyes as she looked to the X-Wing. He tried to place himself in her shoes, to look through her pleased gaze to see what she saw. The fact that most of the parts were original was a good thing and he hadn’t been lying, he wanted a ship with character. He’d often said himself that he was just as happy flying an old T-65 as he was jumping in the cockpit of the newer, flashier T-85’s. And he supposed that Alannah was right, there was an ineffable quality to this ship that he’d been looking for and he was willing to wait for the end product, to have a ship he could learn to love even if she was on the plain side. He pressed a hand to the cool, heavily armored hull.

“Shame you can’t find someone to give her a fresh paint job though.”

“Yeah, no,” Alannah said as she retreated to the tray containing her wide array of tools. She deposited a few tools from the pockets of her coveralls and then fished a rag from the side pocket of her back. Poe didn’t know why, but he could hardly take his eyes off the way her long, delicate fingers worked the rag, wiping away the smudges marring her pale skin. “This is a military hangar, not a beauty salon. If you want the works you’re better off scrounging up the credits and buying new.” 

Poe shrugged his shoulders and smiled up at his new, old X-Wing. “Eh, I think you’re right, new is overrated. And I guess I can’t really have this one done up in black. It just wouldn’t be the same.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Losing your ship and starting from scratch can’t be easy.”

Other people had said similar things to Poe about  _ Black One _ but Alannah was the first person who seemed to truly understand. A pilot’s fighter was an extension of self. Poe wasn’t lying whenever he said he could fly anything but being capable of flying anything didn’t mean he wanted to. His mind strayed back to Crait and those ancient ski speeders that literally fell apart mid-flight. Poe knew that he was being a touch too sentimental but he missed  _ Black One _ , he truly did. Hearing Alannah’s genuine apology did a little bit to ease that pain. Knowing Alannah was determined to transform this ship into the best version of itself went even further. 

“Thanks,” he said. “Still, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Alannah stuffed her rag back in the side pocket. “I like a good challenge. Now come on, I’ve got the general list of work to do but I still need your input on personal modifications.”

They fell back to work, Alannah cajoling BB-8 into giving her answers and Poe making notes on a datapad to give Alannah for review. She began work on one issue or another and while she did that he found himself examining the hyperdrive and wondering if she would notice if he made a handful of modifications of his own or if she would even care. It was, after all, his fighter, and Poe didn’t see the harm in a little experimentation. While BB-8 kept Alannah busy, he snuck a few of her tools from her work tray and worked a little technical magic of his own, employing the skills he learned on Kijimi to bypass a couple of the -- wholly unnecessary in his humble opinion -- safety measures to give the jump to lightspeed a little kick.

“Poe?” His head snapped up. “Are you sure this is your final list? It’s shockingly...short.”

“Huh? Oh yeah. I’m not nearly as picky as people make me out to be,” he pulled his hand still holding one of her auto-screwdrivers behind his back. “Besides, I won’t know what else I’ll need until I can log some flight hours.” 

Alannah nodded, still engrossed in the datapad. “That makes sense.” She then paused mid-step and turned back. Her eyes narrowed and mouth pulled in a straight, suspicious line. “Poe,” she dragged his name out the way a parent confronting her naughty child would. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said just a fraction too quickly.

Alannah crossed her arms over her chest. “You sure about that? Because if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re screwing around with the hyperdrive.”

“I would nev--” before he could finish, she brushed past him. 

The answer to whether or not she would notice his alterations was immediate.

Alannah stared at his handiwork in disbelief. “ _ Where _ did you learn how to do  _ that _ ?” 

“What? It’s fine, it’s--”

“A good way to put too much stress on the hyperdrive system and blow the motivators!” 

“You’re being too cautious! I’ve done this before!”

“On what?” She scoffed. “You could maybe get away with this on a ship with a less powerful, Class 3 hyperdrive. But on a T-70? Do you have a death wish? Poe, this is backalley engineering at its worst! This is the kind of shady, garbage method that smugglers and spice runners use and I--” Alannah’s jaw dropped. The blood coursing Poe’s veins turned to ice. If not for his sudden precarious circumstances, he might have laughed at her expression. She looked like a fish out of water, all enormous eyes and gaping mouth. However, Alannah was not only smart enough to identify his particular touch but she was also educated enough to figure out just exactly where he learned it. Poe stared at her from the other side of the exposed hyperdrive, his jaw hard and straining. He could even feel a vein jumping out in his neck. Poe could practically see the gears whirring in her mind as the pieces fell into place. 

Poe wasn’t easily embarrassed or ashamed but his brief stint as a spice runner was a glaring exception to that rule. So far he’d successfully kept that secret from everyone except for Leia who would never betray him. Now here stood Alannah, in possession of not the whole truth but enough of it to be utterly damning should she choose to speak. Poe knew that technicians gossiped just as much, if not more, than pilots did. His stomach twisted itself into a knot so tight he wasn’t sure it would ever come undone.

A pause hovered between them, expectant and uncomfortable. Poe’s uncharacteristic silence accompanied his beseeching expression, a silent plea to Alannah to keep what she’d just figured out to herself. He watched the motion of her throat when she swallowed and then looked past him, over his shoulder to the waning daylight. 

“It’s been a long afternoon, Commander,” she allowed her lips to quirk ever-so-slightly. “How about I take care of--” she circled her hand over the mess he’d made “--this. And finish the last of the major maintenance. By mid-morning tomorrow you should be able to take her out and get in some flight hours and I’ll do any fine tuning after that, deal?”

That was as much of a confirmation that his secret was safe as he was going to get and it was more than enough for him. Poe wanted to sink to his knees and kiss her feet in thanks. Something told him, however, that Alannah would not take kindly to being publicly humiliated in such a fashion and so he settled for releasing his white-knuckled grip on the ship and nodding his head in agreement.

“Yeah, that sounds great. I really, I uh-I really appreciate it, Alannah.”

They both knew he wasn’t thanking her for the repairs. 

“Mhmm.” Now she did let a genuine smile creep onto her face. “Just don’t let me ever, ever see you do something like that to this, or any, machine again. I’m pretty handy with a wrench and I’d hate for that pretty face of yours to be on the business end of it.”

The tension holding them broke. Poe snorted in laughter. “You think I’m pretty?”

Alannah pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course that’s your big takeaway.”

“I’m just saying, I thought maybe you didn’t notice or--”

“Poe?”

“Yep?”

“Go away.”

He retreated to his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, all too happy to release her from her self-percieved torture. “Whatever helps you get the job done. You coming, BB-8?”

BB-8 led the way toward the back door of the hangar. Poe paused once to look back, only to discover Alannah was already hard at work.

X X X

Somewhere between undoing Poe’s dangerous bypass of the hyperdrive’s safety protocols and replacing a handful of coolant lines, the day faded. Alannah lost track of the minutes that ticked by. Without anyone else present to slow her down, she was able to chug along at a quick pace, attacking the high priorities on her list that would allow Poe to log flight hours in the morning and get some idea for what needed fine-tuning. Although she was certain that he wasn’t going to have any major complaints and she was endlessly confident in her skills, Alannah still found herself nervous. What if something did go wrong? All joking aside, she did recognize that she was working on Poe’s X-Wing and he was vitally important to the Resistance. Alannah did not want to be the technician responsible for some horrible fiery crash that resulted in Poe’s disfigurement, or worse. Plus, she didn’t want to disappoint General Organa and something told Alannah that doing anything to compromise her top Commander would be nothing short of a gargantuan failure.

Everything had to be perfect beyond her usual standard for perfection. Poe might have started this whole fiasco by singling her out to help him choose a new fighter but she posed and accepted the challenge of turning around a pitch-perfect machine. Only now that the night was beginning to wear on did she begin to regret her decision. Her lower back and neck ached from the odd ways she contorted her body to reach certain spots. A small, shiny burn stung her wrist where she’d caught a touch of sparks from her welding tool, catching the gap between her gloves and her sleeve opening. The burn would heal in a few days and wouldn’t even leave a scar but at the moment she wished she had a cold compress to place on it. Although it wasn’t particularly warm in the hangar, especially considering the blast doors were still half-open, Alannah grew hot in her coveralls. As soon as she finished the more dangerous aspects of her job, she undid the top half of her coveralls and tugged them off, tying the sleeves off at her waist to reveal the black tank she wore beneath. 

Even though she was uncomfortable and beginning to feel the weight of exhaustion settling on her chest, Alannah knew she shouldn’t really complain. Fresh air wafted in from the outdoors, filling her lungs and she was in the middle of a technically challenging job that would ultimately be quite fulfilling if she pulled it off. And nerves aside, Alannah had no doubt that she would.

Some might call Alannah’s confidence arrogance bordering on hubris but she often assumed that was just because even in a galaxy full to the brim of capable women, people still couldn’t accept the fact that a willowy blonde could hold her own with the best mechanics the galaxy had to offer. The truth of the matter was that she was gifted. Machines made more sense to her than people ever did. There was a perfect, easy-to-understand cause and effect relationship with everything in a starfighter. If Alannah tweaked the angle of the sensor array, it would widen the outward field or if she greased the right places, the landing gear would deploy so smoothly the pilot might never feel it come down. Every wire had a starting point and a terminal end, relaying a specific set of information from point A to point B. X-Wings were like every other type of ship she’d maintained over the years: predictable and reliable. The litany of carefully constructed, moving pieces that made up a fighter was an intricate puzzle but Alannah never struggled to see the full picture and her hands were particularly adept at putting them together. She welcomed the less-than flattering labels to identify her personal attitude when it came to her skills because at the end of the day, after a painfully long battle to achieve self-acceptance, Alannah knew what she was worth. 

And today she’d learned that Poe Dameron of all people unquestionably held her skill in high regard too. Alannah hadn’t wanted to like him just a tiny bit more for it but she did. It was hard to put down someone who took her advice at face value and didn’t feel the need to try and outsmart her at her own profession. The longer the afternoon wore on, the more she started to understand that their very first encounter was nothing more than a man uncertain of a total stranger touching his property and wasn’t the personal attack she took it as. That didn’t mean Alannah was prepared to befriend the man, or even let on that she respected him more than she had the day before, but it did mean she was no longer loath to work on his starfighter. 

Humming under her breath, she placed the tip of her hand drill on the final bolt and drilled it into place, securing the panel covering one side of the nose cone. With the front sensor now perfectly positioned to scan through the sensor window, Alannah was ready to clamber into the cockpit and begin running a full battery of diagnostics to determine what was left, if anything. She deposited her personal tools back in her bag and fished her data pad from beneath the bag and then climbed the ladder. 

“Alright, let’s take a look,” she muttered to no one.

The last two technicians left about half an hour prior and with no outgoing or incoming mission expected, there was no need for anyone else to be lingering in the hangar so late. Alannah would finish up her diagnostics, close the blast doors, and fall into bed for a few hours before her next shift in the morning. She relished the silence and the solitude. Sharing a room with three other women and a crowded hangar with everyone else meant her alone time was a precious gift. 

Once settled in the seat of the cockpit, she plugged her data pad in and started tapping screens to begin the battery of tests she curated herself. There were so many different computer-run systems she had to check that the whole process would take close to half an hour. She could certainly let the pad do its thing and go back down to clean up her work station but she was surprisingly comfortable, reclined back in the seat. Alannah stretched her legs out and let her head slip back, eyes fluttering shut. 

Alannah knew some technicians would raise their eyebrows at her relaxed behavior. Some techs believed the cockpit was sacred territory, a place they worshipped but didn’t dare tread unless absolutely necessary. Although she understood the trepidation and could see how some technicians viewed climbing into the cockpit like breaking into someone’s house, she’d never been so concerned. Alannah had certainly never met a pilot who took umbrage with her familiarity with their ship. To Alannah, the cockpit was just another part of the machine and any pilot who saw it as a sacred space could go ahead and find themselves a new tech; she had better things to do than put up with that kind of fussy behavior.

She was just beginning to drift off when a funny sound reached her ears. Was it scratching? A frown tugged at her lips and she sat up straight, looking out into the hangar. Alannah wasn’t sure when the thick fog began to roll into the hangar and spread toward the back where she was but it was everywhere now, swirling high enough to almost completely obscure her tray table. 

“Damnit,” she muttered. For most of the evening the fog hadn’t been a major issue but the cooling night must have brought a change in atmosphere with it. 

Without sparing a second thought, Alannah hauled herself out of the cockpit and down the ladder, skipping the bottom two rungs and hitting the ground with a gentle thump. She needed to close the blast doors before the situation got worse. The fog around her waved angrily around her body but soon resumed its loose dance. 

Her head snapped to the side. Now she was certain she heard a sound, like nails scratching the floor. In her chest her heart skipped a beat and started to claw its way up to her throat. Alannah took two more steps to her work tray and closed her hand over the largest, heaviest wrench in her bag. Whatever or whoever it was, she was definitely not alone in the hangar. 

Technicians generally weren’t given much in the way of fight training. Their job required them to keep their feet on the ground and their heads out of the fight but Alannah knew one of the first principles of any combat was to seek cover until you size up your enemy. Heart slamming against her breastbone, she ducked beneath Poe’s X-Wing and moved toward the supply crates that were stacked one atop the other in a small pallet. There would surely be enough cover and she could regroup there. 

A low rumble echoed through the hangar and her blood went cold. What in the hell was that? Alannah wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Looking in all directions, all she saw was the shrouded form of Poe’s X-Wing and the fog; it was so thick she could barely keep her bearings. Assured that if she couldn’t see the creature, it couldn’t see her, she hurried to the crates and ducked behind them, crouching low. Pressing her back flat against them, she shut her eyes and exhaled softly before daring to peer around the corner. Her first glance yielded nothing but the second released a burst of bitter adrenaline onto her tongue. 

A large, furry creature stalked the hangar on four powerful legs that terminated in four large paws. Each paw was crowned with four sharp claws. In the fog she could make out its mottled brown coat and powerful muscles that rippled beneath. Alannah might have been seriously impressed with the cat if not for the enormous canine teeth that curved out from its upper jaw, pointed and lethal. 

She couldn’t very well close the blast doors now, not with some of the local wildlife on the prowl! The best she could do was get to one of the doors and sneak out to find someone to help chase the damn thing out. Alannah kicked herself for being stupid enough to forget to close the doors after the last technicians left. What had she been thinking?

Her lungs felt so tight she could barely draw in a breath. Alannah steeled herself and prepared to make a dash for the door when a touch landed on her shoulder and nearly sent her out of her skin. A hand covered her mouth, stifling the scream that almost came out. Turning back, her eyes widened as Poe shook his head once to encourage her silence, naked blaster in his hand. Alannah had absolutely no idea what he was doing there but she’d never been happier to see him.

He waved at her to stay where she was and she happily sank back, allowing the trained soldier to handle the situation. The tales of Poe’s exploits fighting Storm Troopers and bounty hunters and all the other nasties in the galaxy were notorious; surely one big saber-toothed cat wouldn’t be an issue. 

Poe’s jaw clenched, his cheeks hollowing and his brows knitted together when he peered around the edge of the crates, looking for the cat. Alannah was accustomed to Poe as the overconfident flyboy. She’d never seen this side of him, all business and dark, intense eyes. Once more he waved for her to stay exactly where she was and he slipped out of cover, staying low in the cover of the fog. Alannah pressed her back flat against the crates and stared straight ahead, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on her wrench. 

At first she heard nothing and then a growl, claws scratching violently on the floor, the clang of metal and--a strangled shout. Poe’s curse echoed through the cavern and the terrified note pulling the words a touch higher than his usual register was enough to send Alannah to her feet. Mindless of the danger, she rounded the crates and ran toward the source. The cat was atop him, one large paw on each shoulder. Poe tried to kick up but it was all he could do to grip the cat’s enormous saber teeth, holding it back through sheer strength and force of will alone. 

Alannah acted before she even really registered what she was doing. The grunts and growls of Poe’s struggle with the cat drowned out her footfall. She drew the wrench back and swung at the cat’s head as hard as she could, hitting the mark with a loud thud that rattled all the way up her arm and through her chest. The cat, likely more scared than hurt, reared back and stepped over Poe, making a straight line for the open blast doors. Alannah chased after it and veered off, slamming her palm against the red button to close the doors. As soon as the blast doors creaked shut, she jogged back to where Poe still lay on the floor, panting,

“Are you okay?” She asked, breathless herself.

“I’ve been better,” he winced, propping himself up with one elbow. “What did you do?”

Alannah held up the tool in her hand for him to see. 

“I told you,” she said and held a hand out for him. “I’m handy with a wrench.”

She employed her considerable strength to help pull Poe to his feet where he hopped up and swung around to the closed blast doors and then to face her once more. He raised his arms to rake his fingers through his hair and pulled back in surprise at the same time she started. 

“That is a lot of blood. A whole lot of blood.” 

The open gash sliced clean through his shirt sleeve and skin like butter. Blood welled up on the open seam, pooling and trickling down both sides of his arm. Alannah didn’t even realize she’d taken his forearm in her hands until they were standing close and she was lifting the edge of his shirt to examine the wound. She was no stranger to injuries on the job, and even had a scar on her forearm that could almost match the gash for length. 

“It’s probably not as bad as it looks. Come on, we keep a stocked med kit at the workbenches. I can patch that up.”

Poe’s brows furrowed in confusion, lips tugging toward a frown. “Shouldn’t I go to medical?”

“You can,” she murmured and then raised her chin to smirk at him. “But do you really want to explain that you got your ass handed to you by the local wildlife? And the only reason you’re not cat chow is because I saved you with this?” She waved her wrench for further evidence.

Poe blinked rather stupidly at her before catching her drift. “Yeah, good point.” He jerked his head to the back of the hangar where the long line of work benches and tables took up most of the wall. “Med kit’s over here?”

Alannah snorted and paused long enough to retrieve his forgotten blaster before she followed Poe to the back. She pointed her wrench to one of the benches. “Sit there.”

“You gonna wield that thing all night or what?” He jumped when she dropped it on the bench next to him, making a loud clang that echoed through the cavern. 

“Here,” she held the blaster out to him. “You might want this back. I hear they’re useful in a fight.”

Poe took it and switched the safety back on before holstering it at his leg. There was something about the sight of him, hair mussed, bleeding like crazy and looking thoroughly sheepish that tweaked the more wicked side of her humor. Poe surveyed her, picking up the subtle shake of her shoulders and the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eye.

“Is this funny to you?” Alannah clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh because his indignation was so far removed from mister-best-pilot-in-the-galaxy that he may as well have been a petulant boy pouting over the loss of his favorite toy. 

“I mean, it’s a little funny,” she admitted, which did not help her case or improve his mood whatsoever.

“Oh yeah, sure, go ahead, let’s laugh at Poe. He only put his life on the line to save you from being eaten,” he muttered under his breath just loud enough that he knew she would hear. “I guess that’s the going rate of chivalry these days.”

His grumpy little aside assured Alannah that he wasn’t actually all that mad and so she went off in search of the med kit. Alannah crouched down and rummaged through one of the supply cabinets until she located the large case stamped with Resistance medical insignia. Grasping the handle, she hauled it out and carried it to the bench where she set it down and popped the hinges. A litany of supplies littered the inside with no rhyme or reason to the organization, something that piqued one of her nerves. When it came to the hangar and the enormous amount of supplies contained within it, she believed in order but not every technician did. 

“What a mess,” she muttered under her breath, sifting through the contents, pushing aside burn patches, disinfectant pads, numbing sprays and the like. When she finally gathered her supplies, she took Poe’s arm once more and with ginger fingers, rolled up the sleeve. Blood continued to ooze from the gash, though not as quickly as before. She took a clean towel and dabbed at the edges, gently mopping away the worst of the mess before tearing open a disinfectant pad. “This is gonna sting.”

Poe hissed but didn’t pull away. “Thanks, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” Alannah tilted her head to the side while she continued to wipe the gash, which was significantly shorter than it first appeared. “What were you doing back in the hangar anyway?”

“I knew you were going to be stuck here late and probably didn’t make it to the mess. Since it's my ship you're fixing, I figured I’d bring you something to eat.” He swiveled in a half turn to point out the small covered tray resting on one of the counters. “I showed up and there was a bunch of fog and no you in sight so I went looking and well,” he pointed to the wound. “Here we are.”

Alannah didn’t even know what to make of his gesture. She’d heard all sorts of rumors about Poe, that he was arrogant, obnoxious, loyal, committed, flirtatious, and overly smooth but she’d not expected such a gesture from him to be directed at her. “Thanks,” she said, still confused over what to make of it. The X-Wing commander remembered she was pulling another late one and brought her dinner? It didn’t totally add up but she didn’t want to offend him and make herself look foolish by questioning his motives just yet. “That’s actually--that’s actually really sweet.”

“I don't think you’ve noticed but I’m actually a pretty nice guy.”

Alannah set the bloodied antiseptic wipe aside and grabbed the bacta spray, applying a thin coat to the wound. “I never said you weren’t. And I do appreciate it. Sometimes I can go hours without remembering to eat or drink anything.”

“I know the feeling. Long flights? I won’t realize I’m starving until I land.” 

Alannah didn’t answer but the small smile they shared was enough.

She applied a medpatch, gently pressing the edges on his undamaged skin. His skin was warm to the touch and she could feel the tense muscles in his forearms relax when she rubbed her thumbs along the edges to ensure a proper seal. For a moment, pleasant silence settled over them. Alannah kept her eyes fastidious on her work, unrolling a length of snow white bandage to wind around the patch, protecting it from the elements and wear and tear. She tied it off and tucked the edges away so they wouldn’t catch or fray. 

“Nice job!” He complimented, examining her handiwork. “If the whole fixing X-Wings thing doesn’t work out for you, there’s always medicine.”

Alannah laughed. “No thanks. I’m good with machines, not people.” 

Poe got to his feet, rolling up his other shirt sleeve to match. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Together they walked toward the doors and he paused, tapping the top of the covered tray with his fingers. “Please eat this. I don’t want to be held responsible if you pass out working on my ship.”

“I will, thank you again.”

“No problem. I’ll see you around, Ace.”

Ace? Where had that come from? Alannah wasn’t a nickname sort of girl and she didn’t particularly like the one he’d chosen. Aces were pilots and daredevils, not gun shy technicians. 

“Poe?” She caught him before he could turn away. One look at the lopsided grin on his face told Alannah he knew exactly what he was doing when he called her that. “Do I look like a pilot to you?”

Poe took her question as an open invitation to let his eyes liberally graze the full length of her body, drinking in her strict hairstyle, the tiny flecks and smears of grease dotted on her skin in odd places, and her coveralls still tied off at her waist. She remembered then that she wore little more than a black tank on her upper half, scooping low over her chest and revealing far more of her than she would have liked. Appreciation colored his face and his chest rose with a deep breath before it fell sharply. Alannah wished she’d had the wherewithal to be annoyed and she especially hated the not totally unpleasant shiver that slipped down her spine under the intensity of his inspection.

“No,” he said at last and she swore she heard the faintest quaver of his normally rock-steady tone. “You definitely do not.”

She recovered a beat too slow but just in time to yell after him before he disappeared through the door. “Then don’t call me Ace!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter features more banter and a big step forward. I'd love to know your thoughts. Much love - Kappa.


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